by Erika McLitus
These fragile, amorous connections
all butterflies and string
stretched taut over a gaping emotional gulf–
string breaking, wings tearing–
I can feel the air through the gaps
with each heavy sigh
laden with its unacceptable truths.
But as the night drops its heavy darkness over me,
the naked honesty that appears in the moonlight
renders my despair irrelevant.
I grasp my protests closer to me,
like a child seeking comfort,
then, reluctantly, I let them go.
All these empty denials
descend like soap bubbles,
beautiful lies that sink, rest, and burst.
And as I embrace the transience,
as I transcend my panic,
I feel the tension lessen as my own hands open,
loose string swaying in the breeze,
butterflies fluttering between my fingers,
happiness falling on my cheeks like a sunbeam.
